2017-01-01

sovay: (Lord Peter Wimsey: passion)
Rabbit, rabbit! My poem "Andromache" has been accepted by Not One of Us. It is my first-written poem and my first acceptance of this year; it was inspired by a remark of [personal profile] kore's and its title leans more toward the Amazon who fought Herakles than the wife of Hektor.

[livejournal.com profile] derspatchel and I did not ring in the new year in the literal sense, but we watched [livejournal.com profile] schreibergasse and [livejournal.com profile] lauradi7 and six other members of a band of change ringers at Church of the Advent do so. It was my first exposure to change ringing outside of Dorothy L. Sayers' The Nine Tailors (1934) and I don't seem able to write about it without an access of Tiny Wittgenstein; it registered to me as an actively interesting art form—I couldn't have reproduced any of the patterns I heard, but I could track in the moment some of the ways the bells moved through them, which differs sufficiently from most of my experiences with music that it reminded me much more of observing a dance—and exactly the sort of complexly coordinated group activity that I should not let myself get drawn into trying to learn because the chances of my being able to achieve the levels of minimal competence that would allow me not to burden the people around me are slender to laughable and I don't like doing things badly when I know they can be done well. It was an excellent thing to be present for, however, and the bells at Church of the Advent have great overtones. We got home at a reasonable hour and I stayed up far too late finishing Mike Mignola and Christopher Golden's Baltimore, or, The Steadfast Tin Soldier and the Vampire (2007), courtesy of [livejournal.com profile] teenybuffalo, and writing an utterly unrelated poem.

Today was the traditional New Year's ham and fondue at my parents' house, followed by the somewhat less traditional deconstruction of the tree and concomitant sweeping of an apparently infinite amount of fir needles off the living room floor. Rob came out as soon as he had finished work. I shared with Schreiber' the Twitter thread of "1 like = 1 borderline insane member of the clergy" that Rob had sent me last night (I learned everything I know about the Reverend Harold Davidson from a song by Dave Goulder!) and developed an unexpected eye-watering headache, which is why I am going to try to head for bed as soon as I have stopped catching up on comments.

I am well aware that if it follows the course set by the last months of 2016, 2017 will contain many things I will not look back on fondly, except for how the people I care about fought and survived them. As a first day, though, this was all right.
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